They spoke of sacrifice
by Silken Threads
Summary: Severus Snape pays a last visit to a friend. My tribute to the characters who made Harry Potter the marvel it is.


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.*sigh*.Never have, and never will.**

The frigid wind whistled its way down the streets of the snow covered village, spilling itself onto the wide expanse of the deserted graveyard. Deserted- but for one lone figure, shrouded in black, standing motionless beside a white-marble headstone.

The church, just visible in the distance, was buzzing with activity. Disjointed notes were audible- the choir was rehearsing; Christmas was only a fortnight away. The spirit of the holidays that pervaded Godric' s Hollow was lost on this young mourner. The holidays spoke of hope, of love, of family; he had lost all three.

His family- a drunk for a father, and a browbeaten mother; his only solace was in the little green-eyed girl who gave him the love and support of a sister.

His love- the red haired friend who always had his back; who reproached him for his faults, and applauded him on his triumphs- some of which even he failed to acknowledge.

His hope - that the one person who meant the world to him would have a full life; a life that her own infallible spirit spoke of, and yearned for.

Yes, he had lost all three. He had lost all three a month ago. His life seemed hollow, now, and empty- the flame that she had kindled in him was slowly dying.

The last month had been nothing short of agonizing. But then again, maintaining an unaffected facade had almost become second nature to him. The flurry of arrests and sentences taking place after the Dark Lord s downfall had hardly penetrated his listless mind.

His dark eyes traced the contours of the impression of her name on the white marble.

_"Lily"_

The inmates of the church were now noisily making their way out. Their laughter reached him in random bursts. It reminded him of her- it made him yearn to hear her laugh just one more time. Her laughter, her very nature, bespoke of warmth, innocence and purity in its most fundamental form. His fleeting friendship with her had been enough for him to recognize her worth.

The echoes of his past, of their friendship, spoke to him from the memories that had refused to fade-

_"Potter' s such a smug little toerag -spoiled- mummy's little pet - an agitated little black-haired boy of eleven was telling his friend as they made their way to the charms classroom. This friend, a young red-haired girl, was listening to him with an expression of calm understanding._

_" -Just because his family spoils him-arrogant little-"_

_" You shouldn't let him get to you, Sev,"_

_ "I'm not!" he shot back, firing up._

_" Of course you re not," she retorted. They resumed their walk to the classroom in silence- a silence of ruffled pride on one part, and sympathetic affection on the other._

_Just before entering, he heard her say, softly, as though talking only to herself:_

_ "Friends are the family members that we get to choose, you know,"_

His thin lips curved upwards in a rueful smile. She always knew what it was that bothered him.

He had no name to give their relationship. This was something that used to bother him. She was no longer the childhood playmate; she was no longer his friend; she was never his lover; she even counted him among her enemies. That was the thing that wounded him the most. But he did have a name for her now.

_Family_

She no more walked amongst the living. But her wishes were the only incentive he had to continue with his life. Her life had been something that Riddle thought was disposable. His fists clenched at the thought. How ironic that the people he could hardly think of another word that described them-the people whom he had once considered friends, allies and comrades, he now viewed as tools for reprisal. How ironic that it took her life to be in danger for him to heed her earlier wishes to abandon the life he had chosen to live after they were estranged. How ironic that his hatred toward a person who had caused him more humiliation then was measurable had now subsided into an irritating itch- though not unmarred by jealousy.

He raised his wand, conjuring up a bouquet of white lilies to place as his tribute to her. It was his final goodbye to a friend who had made him appreciate the sanctity of life.

This was his final farewell to Lily Evans.

He stumbled forward, his arm reaching out to touch a part of the headstone; he read the message engraved onto the hard marble.

_"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death"_

He ought to thank Dumbledore for allowing him that last gesture in her honor.

Goodbye, Lily he whispered.

He stood tall and strait after a moment, and then turned heel. He walked toward the gate without a backward glance. Nothing was left for him here. She was gone.

He walked into the street, his dark cloak billowing out behind him, and seemed to dissolve into the darkness.

The lilies he had left fluttered slightly in the frigid wind. Yes, she was indeed gone.

But she had at least left him with a purpose. He could protect the person she had died for.

He could protect her son.

**A/n:This is my first Harry potter fanfic. I'm new to writing, and would really appreciate your reviews. C'mon, i't not too much to ask for, now, is it? So please,**

**REVIEW!**


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